


Untitled (The Fountain of Decay Remix)

by blackbird



Category: Alias
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-26
Updated: 2005-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-16 03:50:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackbird/pseuds/blackbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're the queen and I'm the king and nothing else means anything."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled (The Fountain of Decay Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Untitled](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/2616) by littlehands. 



> A remix of [this ficlet](http://www.livejournal.com/users/littlehands/16391.html) by the lovely [](http://littlehands.livejournal.com/profile)[**littlehands**](http://littlehands.livejournal.com/),written for the 3rd [](http://remixredux.livejournal.com/profile)[**remixredux**](http://remixredux.livejournal.com/). The Remix title and summary are courtesy of Nine Inch Nails, with spoilers for everything so far.

  
When they bring her in, she's a wreck. Her hair is matted, streaked with dirt and dried blood, cheeks sunken, one eye blackened and her lips split and chapped. Of course, despite all that, she managed to take out two of his guards before they stunned her. It really was a pity it had to come to this.

They lead her to the hard plastic chair in the center of the room and she squirms on the seat. It's a diversion, he knows, as she glances around to the room, still looking, always on the job. He relishes the way she's looking at the small table in front of her, sizing it up to use as a weapon if she can get close enough. He doesn't plan on letting her, but she's always full of surprises.

"You may release the restraints," he calls from near the door. Her spine stiffens at the sound of his voice, maybe because he'd been by the door the entire time and she didn't know. She must be afraid she's slipping. He moves silently forward, on the other side of the table before he speaks again.

"I'm sure Miss Bristow will behave herself."

She nods, but doesn't look up and the men are careful to remove the cuffs quickly. They have no interest in sharing their comrades' fate and he can see it written across their faces, clear as day. When they move away, it's just the two of them left in the harsh pool of light from the bare overhead bulb.

At his touch, a flat screen rises from the tabletop and she glances up cautiously.

"I know how reluctant you've been to consider my offer and I must say I'm rather surprised about it. But I do believe this might change your mind."

Another touch and it starts. Some of the images she's seen before. Her sister bleeding to death in a filthy alley in Paris, Weiss' blackened body being pulled from the burning car, and the back of Dixon's head splattering against the white living room wall. The newest ones are at the end – her father being repeatedly electrocuted until his skin began to bubble and peel like cheap paint, Tippin gunned down in the middle of a suburban school parking lot. And then there's Vaughn. He has no particular love for Michael Vaughn, but the sight of him hanging there, the meat hooks piercing through his shoulders, face beaten until it was practically unrecognizable and his intestines slowly leaking from his body even makes him slightly squeamish.

The screen goes black and she doesn't move. She's struggling now, not to cry, not to lash out. Her body is practically shaking from the effort.

"So you see Miss Bristow, there is nothing left. This is what he's done to you."

She's almost curled in on herself now, like a frightened animal and when he moves toward her, she flinches imperceptibly. He's won now, she believes him. She'll do what he asks now, but he thinks the cost may have been too high.

He steps in front of her, close enough to put himself in danger. The restraint is a palpable thing; it comes off her in waves and without conscious thought, he reaches out to her. He brushes the hair from her face with a mildness that he hadn't though was still left in him, burned away from him when Lauren died, when Irina died. Slowly, he moves his fingers across her bruised cheekbone, noting it hasn't been broken, which is good. Down and down, until his thumb traces her cracked bottom lip, traces of blood from a cut painting it a deep crimson. It's only then does she move, a light exhale skittering across his knuckles.

"That's a good girl," he says, smiling even though she can't see it.

Another breath comes back as a choked off sob, raw and broken, and it almost undoes him. She still hasn't met his eyes and he moves behind her, an angel dressed in the devil's clothes trailing his cool fingers across her throat and neck. He can feel her blood pounding under his hands and he knows it's not because of him. But he wants it to be, more than she'll ever know.

"You are still a lovely woman, Sydney," he says, lingering over the grime and bruises on her bare shoulders. "You know it doesn't have to be this way..."

His words hang in the air, half invitation, half demand. One word and he can wipe the blood away and she can leave this black place. They need each other now, but not for the reason she thinks.

"You could be made very comfortable."

She flexes her splinted fingers and he wonders if she's going to strike. Others might want her for show, like a bird in a gilded cage, but he wants more than that. Together, they can destroy Sloane and be rid of Rambaldi forever. All he has to hear is yes.

The skin under his hands is warmer now and when she shifts, he leans down to her ear, his voice pitched low and dark.

"You've always wanted this. Tell me you don't want to watch him die slowly, crying out for mercy. Whatever about you that was pure and good is gone, he's tainted it. Use this gift Nadia left you and avenge her. Come with me and we can avenge them all. Let go, Sydney and I'll catch you."

When she turns to finally meet his eyes, he sees it burning there. Vengeance is a cruel mistress; that's something he knows well. And part of him wishes he could spare her from this, but he can't. He has too many of his own demons to take hers on. She has to do this herself, but he'll lead the way.

Her tongue darts out, licking at the blood he smeared there and that tiny gesture sparks fire in his veins. Despite all this, he still wants her. And now, he has the chance to have her. Even if she's not who she used to be.

"Yes," she whispers softly.

From behind them, the syringe - glowing green like grass – appears. Smoothing his hand across her brow, he soothes her as the needle pierces her vein.

Destiny is rarely ever wrong about these things.  


**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [](http://daera23.livejournal.com/profile)[**daera23**](http://daera23.livejournal.com/) and [](http://misssimm.livejournal.com/profile)[**misssimm**](http://misssimm.livejournal.com/) for the beta.


End file.
